


Home to Roost

by FaultyParagon



Series: RWBY AUs [13]
Category: RWBY
Genre: 'heterosexual' he says, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Angst, Bickering, Bisexual Clover Ebi, Bisexual Qrow Branwen, Clover Ebi-centric, Clover is a fanboy, Clover is a straight boy, Clover's so done with his shit already, Doting Uncle, Editor Clover Ebi, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Gen, He's already just an angsty teen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Qrow would be such a good writer, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Uncle Qrow Branwen, Writer Qrow Branwen, fair game, same honestly, sounds fake but okay Clover, wholesome family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Clover Ebi is an editor in a successful, if small, publishing firm.Qrow Branwen is a mysterious writer who’s won numerous accolades for his varied, engaging novels.Clover’s a huge fan of Qrow’s work- but he’s not a fan of the annoying neighbour making far too much noise at night in Clover’s new apartment complex, even if the neighbour is attractive…-aka Clover's going to make sure Qrow produces some *chef's kiss* quality novels again, no matter what it takes. FairGame Modern AU.
Relationships: Clover Ebi & James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen & Ozpin, Qrow Branwen & Raven Branwen & Summer Rose & Taiyang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: RWBY AUs [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948
Comments: 108
Kudos: 132
Collections: fuck roosterteeth all the homies are annoyed with roosterteeth





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another FG fic because my brain has been filled with far too many ideas lately. Is it just me procrastinating? Probably. But hey- at least this entire fic is planned out already.
> 
> Let me know if you'd like to see more!

_**i.**_

The office always sounded the same: the same voices chatting on the phone; the same heels clicking down the hallway; the same rhythmic typing of fingers on keyboards ringing through the air. Thanks to the location of his desk, he could occasionally hear his supervisor’s booming laugh resonating through the crack in his private office’s door, but the stern man’s humorous outbursts were few and far in between.

Clover didn’t mind the relative quiet. It was a fairly solitary job, after all. Despite it only having been a few weeks at this company, he already felt more than settled in his normal routine. He had his own phone calls to make, his own manuscripts to read, his own edits to type out. He had been picking up the tail end of a mystery novel whose editor had gone on maternity leave, so since arriving at his new desk here, all he had had to do was finish off editing the last few chapters. Then, they could finally continue on with the next step of publishing.

Clover couldn’t wait to be done with this book. The author was a veritable brat, going for a tone that was far too brooding to be truly entertaining. When he had first seen that it was being written for New Adult and not Young Adult readers, he had been surprised; but, with the horrific, uninteresting sex scenes that had popped out of nowhere halfway through the novel, he could only pity the older audiences who might one day accidentally stumble upon that mess.

The tall, built man sighed as the workday came to an end, stretching his arms high above his head and sighing in relief at the audible crack in his shoulders. He hadn’t been working out as much since moving to Vale; perhaps he needed to get back to a gym, with the way his body was feeling. _Maybe I just feel old because of Cinder’s writing,_ he thought wearily, sending off the last list of edits to the woman. _Okay. I’m done._

He smiled, already fantasizing about the drink he’d have at home to celebrate, along with the next project he would be assigned. He’d happily take _anything_ over an edgy fantasy like Ms. Fall’s book.

Maybe he’d even finally get to edit for the author he’d come to this company to meet. Or, perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Clover could dream, though.

As he began packing up for the day, he heard James Ironwood’s voice come through his office door, albeit gentler than usual. “Are you _sure_ you don’t need any help, Winter?” the man asked, concern clear as day in his warm tone.

Winter Schnee, one of the top editors in the company, gave a response as curt and professional as ever; however, Clover still paused, frowning as he heard the slight hint of strain in her voice hidden beneath it all. “It’ll be fine, sir,” she replied. “It’s a family emergency, but I should be able to handle it. I’m sorry for causing an inconvenience, though.”

“No worries,” James responded, voice reassuring. “We’ll get someone else to take over your projects.”

Clover slung his backpack over his shoulder and tucked his hands into his coat pockets, his curiosity overwhelming his sense of decorum. Normally he would just leave; this conversation clearly wasn’t meant for him. However, he still didn’t really know anyone else is Atlas Publishing (nor anyone else in Vale, really- even his neighbours were a mystery to him) so hearing little snippets of conversation like this were his best bet to actually learning something about his otherwise-private, individualistic coworkers.

“Well,” James said, “I suppose you’ll get to see little Weiss, hm? She’s in her first year at Beacon U, if I remember correctly?”

A hint of pride entered Winter’s voice. Clover could imagine the slight raise of her chin, the small smile on her lips as she said, “Yes. Studying macroeconomics and political science.”

 _Alright. That’s enough._ Clover headed towards the exit, waving goodbye amicably to his remaining coworkers before leaving the office behind for the day. He didn’t think too much on the conversation he had overheard- all he had gleaned was that Winter was leaving for an unspecified amount of time.

_And someone needs to take on her editing. I wonder what she’s been working on?_

He let out a yawn as he boarded the bus that would take him home. Either way, he was exhausted, and a good rest would do him well.

That rest did not seem to want to come his way, just as it had evaded him nearly every single night since moving into this apartment. It was a lovely condominium with small studios lining the southeastern wall, giving him a lovely view of the sunrise. He had been so excited to rent it-

But the loud music and painfully-explicit moans shaking the wall between his apartment and his neighbour was _not_ part of the tenant’s contract.

It was 10PM. The beer in his hand was quickly beginning to taste bitter as the volume of the moans coming from next door escalated, managing to penetrate Clover’s headphones as he tried to drown it out. He felt his eye twitch- could he not just enjoy _one night of peace_ after spending hours reading a _garbage novel_ that he was _forced to approve?_ Was that _really_ too much?

In hindsight, his reaction was a little excessive. In the moment, however, it felt perfectly justified. That was why Clover kneeled on his couch and banged on the wall separating him and his neighbour’s studio, a sense of satisfaction rolling through him as the sound reverberated through the entire apartment.

The moans didn’t even stop for a second.

 _Dear gods, fine-_ He groaned, climbing to his feet and padding to the door. He went to his neighbour’s door and knocked aggressively upon it. “Hey, would you mind quieting down?” he boomed, projecting his voice as loudly as he could. “You’re disturbing the building.”

Was it passive-aggressive to be loud enough in the hall to wake up the whole floor? Maybe. Or maybe he’d just been learning from Ms. Fall’s protagonist. Who could tell?

Thankfully, that seemed to do the trick. Clover re-entered his apartment and collapsed onto his couch, letting his head loll back against the cushion while he waited. After a few minutes, he heard an annoyed female voice huff and complain before the neighbour’s front door opened and slammed shut, heels clicking in the hallway.

And then, it was silent.

Clover smiled, standing up and grabbing his drink. _Thank the gods. I need some quiet._

One of the reasons he had wanted to move into this place was the lovely balcony attached to each apartment, which was wide enough for a chair and a small table to fit comfortably. Clover enjoyed watching the sunrise in the mornings, and at night, enjoying a drink in the brisk air while looking up at the stars seemed like the perfect way to wind down. He rarely saw others out on the neighbouring balconies, though.

So, to see the glass balcony door swing open to his right- his louder neighbour’s apartment- was a surprise indeed. Clover watched mutely as a tall, toned man stepped out onto his own empty veranda, dressed in nothing but a sleeveless shirt and baggy sweatpants hanging low on narrow hips. An angular face looked exhausted, pale skin and sunken eyes blinking blearily out at the lights of the city below.

Clover took in a sharp breath, looking over the man leaning against the railing of his balcony. Long, thin fingers were wrapped around a stout tumbler filled with clinking ice cubes and amber liquor, the man’s other hand pushing dark grey and black hair out of his face. A few dark whiskers were visible on his clumsily-shaven chin, but Clover didn’t pay them any mind. No, his eyes were focused instead on the man’s silhouette against the city lights; the way a furrowed brow curved down into a straight, proud nose, leading into a sharp cupid’s bow on thin lips above a small chin, accentuated by odd-coloured eyes looking out into the distance.

He frowned, squinting through his weariness. Were his neighbour’s eyes… red?

Before he could figure it out, those dark eyes fell onto Clover. Instantly, recognition hit, and the man’s face twisting into an annoyed snarl. “Hey, buddy, mind your own business next time,” he growled, voice rough and raspy and far-too attractive for Clover to register it properly.

 _Well. I guess that face and voice would be enough to get_ that _many women into his place,_ Clover thought distantly.

After a moment, the words sank in, and it was Clover’s turn to be annoyed. “Look- I’m just asking for some peace and quiet. You can invite whoever you want. Just don’t be so loud that I can hear it clearly.”

The man rolled his eyes and downed his drink in one shot, sauntering back into his own apartment bitterly. Clover watched him go, feeling uneasy and annoyed.

 _I don’t care how attractive he is- I need to sleep._ With that, he hastily finished off his own beer and went back in, ready to go to bed and face whatever terrifying manuscripts awaited him the next day. His weary mind completely glossed over the fact that yes, he had finally met at least one of his neighbours, and yes, he- Clover Ebi, fiction editor extraordinaire, a heterosexual man- did indeed think his promiscuous, decidedly _male_ neighbour was attractive. Dealing with those thoughts were a problem for another day.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really be working on my other IRL work  
> aaaaaAAAA
> 
> Leave a comment if you're reading along! I'd love to hear what you think :D

_**ii.** _

For the first time in weeks, Clover was able to enjoy a peaceful, quiet night. He had been half afraid that he had enraged his neighbour the night before, fearful that the older man would play music loudly again just to spite him; so when his alarm woke him up in the morning not a moment too soon, all he could do was heave a sigh of relief, stretch, and enjoy a tranquil sunrise.

After his breakfast and a quick workout session at the complex’s gym, it was finally time to head to work. The bus ride to the office was a fairly long one, giving Clover more than enough time to think on what had happened the night before.

His neighbour had been bringing back a different woman every few nights ever since Clover had moved into the condominium. While Clover had initially been baffled as to how someone could pull that off, after seeing him, he finally understood. His neighbour had indeed been attractive, in a rough, eternally-sleep-deprived, moody way- strong bone structure and toned muscle layered over a lean frame and sculpted features.

Clover wrinkled his nose at his own reflection in the bus window. The man was more handsome than he was, he had to admit. The only thing Clover had going for him over his neighbour were his muscles. _A lot of good those do at a desk job,_ he thought wearily. _Maybe I should check out Vale’s nightlife. Maybe I should get back into dating._

He immediately shoved that thought away. Dating could wait. He didn’t need that kind of headache again so soon.

For a moment he pondered talking to the landlord about his neighbour. But then again, he had only just moved in; would it look good to be so quick to file a complaint?

 _I’ll talk to him. I probably didn’t leave a great impression,_ he finally decided as he stepped off the bus, walking with purpose to the publishing office. Maybe the two of them could even be friends. He might as well give it a shot- or at the very least, try and convince the guy to not be so obnoxious with his hookups.

The moment he had set his bag down beside his desk, however, James stepped out of his office. His manager’s face lit up upon seeing Clover. “Perfect timing!” the man said, his smile visible even under his thick, dark beard. “Come into my office. I have an assignment for you.”

Clover followed obediently, taking the offered seat across from James’ large chair. “Who’s the author, someone we’ve worked with?”

“Actually,” James said, sliding into his seat behind his desk, “this is sort of a special project.” Leaning forward, he clasped his hands together on his desk, his smile almost gleeful. “Clover, when you applied to fill in the position originally, you cited in your cover letter and interview that you wanted to work with the company that worked with your favourite author, correct?”

Clover nodded, the tiniest bit of hope stirring in his heart. “That’s correct.”

“Well, Winter’s been called back home due to some unfortunate family situations. However, her main author is actually finishing up his latest novel. And-“

“She is _not_ the editor working with Qrow Branwen right now,” Clover breathed in disbelief. Then, he paused. “Wait- shouldn’t you be asking someone more senior to me to take this on, considering-“

James shook his head ruefully. “Honestly, the rest of the staff have already _tried_ working with him. He’s an incredible author, as you know, but granted, he’s a bit of a… _temperamental_ human being, so Winter’s strict boundaries help keep him and his work on schedule.” The man pulled out a thick envelope from his desk drawer. “Here is the original manuscript Winter was working with- that is, if you want to take the job.”

Clover sat upright in his seat, biting back his urge to whoop and cheer. A chance to work with _the_ Qrow Branwen?! It didn’t matter how hard it was. Of _course_ he was going to take it! “I’d be happy to,” he replied calmly, the epitome of control.

James grinned. “I knew you’d say yes. I think you’ll be able to work well alongside each other. I look forward to seeing how this goes.”

And so, Clover ended up heading home early that day. James informed him of a meeting with the author himself the next day, so Clover had to finish reading the first draft and summarizing his notes before then, which Clover was _more_ than happy to do.

His hands were shaking as he finally entered his apartment that afternoon, pulling out the thick manila envelope with absolute reverence. The simple bindings of the first draft were marked up with an immense amount of immaculate notes. Clearly Winter had been extremely thorough.

As his eyes flitted over the first few pages, he found himself getting distracted by the bookshelf in his living room, looming over him out of the corner of his eye. Every single shelf was filled to the brim with novels, but the highest shelf in particular caught was his target.

It was there that Clover had placed his copies of every single novel ever written by Qrow Branwen.

Green eyes took in the sight of each book, the covers, titles and genres surprisingly diverse. Unlike most authors who found a niche and stuck to it, Qrow had risen to fame by two things: firstly, every single one of his books, all of which received much critical and commercial success, were in different genres and were intended for different audiences, despite the clear writing style and narrative voice recognizable as his own. Secondly, no one knew who the man was- he didn’t do interviews, he didn’t have social media, he didn’t advertise anything about himself. He just lived and wrote in secrecy.

 _And now,_ Clover thought in awe, pulling off the last book on that shelf, _I’m finally going to get to work with him._

The book _Summer’s End_ was not one of his most commercially-successful novels, but Clover understood why it had received such praise. It was Clover’s favourite book, after all; telling the story of a young man whose siblings pass away over the course of his lifetime in increasingly-tragic ways, the novel was nothing if not absolutely heartbreaking.

Clover’s thumb swept over the well-worn cover, the pages slightly bent and perpetually curled after too many rereads to count. This book had saved him when he needed it most. To think that he’d finally get to work with a cult legend himself- that he might finally _know his face-_ was incredible.

Still, he had an entire manuscript to read. Pouring himself a drink, he grabbed the envelope, his drink, a pen, and a stack of sticky notes to start jotting down his initial impressions, then headed to the balcony. It was a lovely day, and he was usually never home early enough to enjoy the afternoon sun. It would be a treat to work outside for once, rather than in a stuffy office.

To his surprise, his neighbour was also outside on his own veranda. Dressed in dark sweatpants and a t-shirt, the man was seated on the floor, leaning against the bars of the railing while talking on what appeared to be a video call. The noise wasn’t objectionable in the least, and the man didn’t notice him, so Clover merely took a seat at his table and set up his makeshift work station.

As he was about to begin reading, however, he heard laughter. His neighbour was smiling dotingly at his phone, chuckling in the sweetest, most tender tone at the person on the other end of the call. Clover squinted, trying to see who it was- from that distance, however, all he could see was the reflective glare of the sun off the screen.

Then, the man murmured, “Kiddo, you better make sure you’re not causing any troubles for your sister, okay? Don’t gimme that- you’ve got to do your homework! How the hell are ya expecting to pass?” And after a moment of listening to the other with his headphones, he laughed more, his face affectionate and kind.

It took a moment for Clover to realize he was staring. The man’s demeanor had shifted completely from the man Clover had met the night before; any animosity that had been there was replaced by pure love. He looked oddly sweet like that, doting on whoever he was speaking to.

 _Is he a divorcee? Is he talking to his kid?_ Clover frowned, a seed of pity taking root inside him. _That’s not easy._

Still, he had a manuscript to focus on, so he put in his own headphones and hunkered down, ready to experience another novel by his hero, pushing his neighbour’s stunning smile out of his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**_iii._ **

Clover’s movements were forceful as he stomped into the office the next morning, tossing his coat onto his chair and his backpack onto the floor with a little more gusto than what was necessary. His mouth was set into a grimace, the fatigued bags underneath his eyes fairly prominent. He pulled the manila envelope James had given him the day before out of his backpack, almost slamming it onto his desk.

Marrow, the young intern at the company whose desk was tucked into the corner, looked up worriedly from the shared coffeepot at the back of the room. “Are you okay?” he called hesitantly across the office floor, drawing curious looks Clover’s way.

Clover smiled thinly. “I’m fine, kid,” he called back, sinking into his chair. He massaged the bridge of his nose, slapping his cheeks lightly before opening up the envelope containing the manuscript. _I need to calm down,_ he told himself, trying to just focus on the task at hand.

The moment he laid eyes upon the plain manuscript, however, all of his frustration returned. Even just flipping through the pages elevated his heartrate, putting him in a sour mood, already exhausted. He had barely slept the night before because of this story.

Despite all of his pride and excitement at the thought of working as Qrow Branwen’s editor the day before, Clover wanted to give the manuscript back to James. He wanted to back out. He wanted no part in this.

The story wasn’t _good._

How could he explain it? His meeting with the legend himself would be in less than an hour. Clover sighed, making a beeline for the coffeepot to grab himself a cup- he was going to need multiple if he wanted to make it through the day, especially if he was forced to defend _this_ piece of work.

It wasn’t as if the untitled book was _bad,_ per se; it just lacked the power and drive that had always defined Branwen’s literary style. The prose was incredibly flowery with little actual intent, and the character motivations were utterly lacking. It was clear that the book didn’t do either of those things intentionally, either, as halfway through the text Clover had realized with an aching horror that the book thought it was actually being incredibly inspiring, not recognizing the bland drivel it was.

He didn’t want to have to look his hero in the eye and tell him that he hated the story, but what other choice did he have?

There was always the chance that Clover was being hypercritical due to being such a huge fan of the author. However, based on the less-than-stellar comments from Winter, he highly doubted it was an observation unique to him alone.

Either way, the appointed meeting time rolled around, and Clover had to go make a good first impression. At the very least, he was excited to meet his idol face-to-face.

There was a small meeting room tucked into the corner of the office, the company’s bestsellers lining a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf within. Light reflected off of the warm yellow walls and onto trim, grey suede armchairs surrounding a central coffee table. Clover had had only a few meetings inside this room before- normally interviews were conducted in there, but as his had been a remote interview from Atlas, he still wasn’t very sure how to navigate the space. It was often used as a room to discuss details with clients and authors; of that, he was sure.

So, as he walked into the room after James, a pleasant smile affixed to his face and the manuscript, along with a round of preliminary suggestions, in hand, Clover had thought he was ready to meet _the_ Qrow Branwen.

So why, pray tell, was his next-door neighbour seated inside?

Rather than his usual ensemble of sweatpants and casual tops, the older man was dressed in a trim grey blazer and black slacks. His dark, grey-streaked hair had been gelled smoothly back, his whiskers shaved and face handsome as ever. Pointed dress shoes, which had been tapping on the floor in wait, stilled their movements as the man caught sight of Clover.

Clover gulped, gaze transfixed onto the man. So, it hadn’t been a trick of the light, and he hadn’t been dreaming. His neighbour had bright red eyes which were staring back at him in equal confusion and distaste.

After a moment of gawping at one another, the illusion cracked and chaos erupted.

Clover spun on his heel to look at James. “Where’s Qrow Branwen?”

“I’m right here, asshole,” his neighbour growled, glaring at James as well. “And what the hell’s this kid doing here? You said I was meeting a new editor, not some whiny-“

“There is no whining involved- you _need_ to quiet down at night, it’s disturbing the peace-“

“You’re disturbing _my_ peace, kid-“

James stepped between the two men, absolutely baffled. After looking back and forth between their heated expressions, he stated flatly, “I take it… you two know each other?”

“He’s my neighbour,” Clover said, not taking his eyes off of the man sneering back at him. This man was Qrow Branwen? _This man_ was the one who had saved Clover’s life, who had changed his entire outlook on the world? _This man_ was the man he had _idolized for years?_

James let out a weary, exasperated sigh. “Qrow, how did you manage to piss off the new kid before you even worked with him?” he groaned, massaging his temples.

Qrow scoffed, and to Clover’s horror, pulled out a small flask from his pocket. Then, right in front of them, at 10:04 on a Thursday morning, Qrow Branwen began to gulp down what could only be hard liquor, based on the scent.

When he finally pulled the flask away from his lips, he growled, “I’m not working with this kid. Where the hell’s Winter?”

“Winter had to go back home to deal with business,” James reasoned. “I didn’t realize you were so fond of her, considering you spent most of your time antagonizing her. Clover’s your new editor while she’s gone. You’re a professional, Qrow-“

“What seems to be the issue, Qrow?” a calm, soothing voice asked.

In a heartbeat, the demeanors of the other two men in the room shifted, shocking Clover into confused silence. James straightened up, almost coming to attention before relaxing, a warm smile on his face. Qrow, on the other hand, relaxed completely, his bravado fading away to the manner of a child who came to tattle to a favourite parent. “Oz,” he complained, “they’re sticking me with the new kid.”

 _Oz?_ Realization dawn a little too late on Clover. Dr. Ozpin, or Oz as he was known around the office, was the largest shareholder in the company. Clover had never met him before, only knowing him as a close friend to James through word of mouth around the office. The man himself didn’t look to be anything too special- of average height and build, white hair atop a surprisingly-young face hidden behind small, wire-rimmed tinted spectacles, a mug of coffee in hand.

Clearly, he was someone important if he was close enough to Qrow Branwen to be on a first-name basis.

Oz looked at Clover with a gentle, curious smile. “James told me about you, Clover. He says you do good work. Keep it up.” Looking back at Qrow, the man added, “And you, you dusty old crow, would do well to give people a chance.” Back to Clover, Oz laughed. “Good luck with this one.” And with that, he left just as breezily as he had entered.

Clover watched in disbelief as the innocent light in Qrow’s eyes instantly dulled again, the man glaring at Clover once more. James relaxed once Oz left, watching the two men carefully. “So… you two are neighbours, yes?” When they both nodded wearily, James smiled. “Well. Good luck.”

And with that, he was gone too, leaving behind an utterly out-of-place Clover and his idol, whose mouth had already returned to the flask in his coat pocket. Clover sighed, gesturing to the couches in defeat. “Let’s talk?”

The scathing glance sent his way made him flinch. _Well. This isn’t going to be easy._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m quite surprised to see how much y’all are enjoying this story! The idea (which literally came to me in the middle of the night a few months ago in the form of ‘Qrow’s a writer, Clover’s an editor, fanboy bullshit, terrible neighbours’) has been sitting in my phone for quite a while.
> 
> Let me know what you think! It’s great reading all your thoughts on it :D

_**iv** _

The silence hung thick in the air, so deafening that all Clover could hear was the quiet ticking of his watch, each movement digging into his brain as he stared at the man seated across the coffee table.

 _So. You’re_ the _Qrow Branwen._

He didn’t know how he felt about this- about _any_ of it. How was he supposed to react, knowing that he had been living next door to (and secretly loathing) his role model and idol for the past few weeks? He had secretly fantasized about this meeting for _years,_ ever since he had first finished reading _Summer’s End_ when he was eighteen years old. The writing prodigy had already won acclaim at that point, but it had been the first time a novel had ever truly impacted Clover.

How could this man be the one who had penned that masterpiece, and all the others Clover had read afterwards?

“So,” he murmured, “is ‘Qrow’ a penname, or…?”

“What kinda dumbass would choose a penname like that? I was born with it, kid.”

 _Well, I didn’t want to_ openly _say it was stupid, but-_ “I, um… I’m a big fan of your work.”

Qrow raised one thin, straight brow, absolute disinterest permeating from every pore.

Clover wanted to walk out. However, he couldn’t; he was still so new to the company, and if he outright refused this job, then where would that leave him? Would he have to go sort through the endless supply of poorly-written manuscripts from author hopefuls? Would he join Marrow in the intern’s corner? Would he have to go help Elm wade through the endless sea of erotica novels that she had been put in charge of, leaving the woman cackling constantly in her corner cubicle?

He shuddered at that last thought. No matter how disillusioned he would be after working with Qrow Branwen, he did _not_ want to be stuck reading about ‘heaving breasts’ and ‘throbbing manhoods’, so he had little choice but to play along.

Finally, Clover sighed, placing the annotated manuscript onto the table. “So I had a chance to read over this last night-“ he began, but before he could even finish his sentence, Qrow rocked to his feet, tucked his hands into his pockets, and sauntered towards the door.

Clover stood, stepping after him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going home, kid,” Qrow rasped. “I’ll just wait for Winter to get back.”

“But she’s going to be gone for quite a while, and you haven’t even looked over-“

Qrow waved a hand dismissively without even turning around to look at him, reaching out for the doorknob. “Look, I’ll quiet down a bit, and you go work with someone else who _cares,_ okay kid?”

Clover stopped in his tracks, absolutely appalled. How was _this_ the man he had idolized for so long?! But the older man seemed content to fight with fire. Clover was good at that; however, he was also good at the opposite. “What,” he said sweetly, crossing his arms defensively, “are you scared you can’t handle my criticism? So used to being able to bother Winter that you can’t work with me, now?”

He felt a mix of regret and satisfaction as Qrow glanced over his shoulder, his face twisting into a snarl. “I’m heading out. Tell James I’m good to wait till the little Ice Queen gets back.” And with that, he slammed the door open and stormed out of the office, cusses and groans of irritation lingering in his wake.

After a few moments, James stuck his head in through the open door. “I’ll give you his email and phone number, although you can also just… knock, I suppose,” he said, voice defeated. “And I was hoping it would go better with you.”

“Is he like that to everyone?” Clover cried, picking up the untouched manuscript angrily.

James pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning against the doorframe. “Look, he’s…” and he winced as the front door of the office slammed shut, a buzz of murmurs arising throughout the office. “…he’s just going through some stuff. He’s genuinely a good person, and a great writer. Give it a shot.”

For a second, Clover thought to argue. He thought to turn it around and complain about the way that man- his _neighbour,_ of all people- had spoken to him. Just as quickly, however, the hope died, seeing the empathetic faces of his coworkers peering into the meeting room from across the office floor. Every single person looked at him with compassionate understanding.

 _He’s gone through every editor in here, hasn’t he?_ Clover realized glumly. _That’s just… great._

“I’m heading out early.” To James’ silent question, he added, “And I’ll go check in on him.”

The relief on James’ face, along with everyone else’s, was palpable. “Good luck.”

So, barely after his day had begun, Clover packed up his belongings, boarded the bus, and trudged back to his apartment.

The unit next door was silent. So, Clover popped his head out onto the balcony, feeling immediate irritation pop up when he saw Qrow leaning against the railing, already sipping on another drink. The man was still dressed formally, although he had clearly run his fingers through his hair, a few locks falling into his eyes gracefully. Clover frowned. He was such an ass- why was he also attractive? _That’s just not fair._

Still, Clover was nothing if not proud of his work. He padded back inside, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and walked back out onto the balcony, tossing the manuscript and his notes onto the table. “Hey, neighbour.”

Qrow jumped in surprise, annoyance flashing in those startlingly-red eyes. “Oh. You. Don’t you have any work to do?”

“Says the man drunk at noon,” Clover muttered, gesturing to the manuscript. “I’m here to do it.”

The elder scowled, draining his glass quickly. “Whatever. I’ll tell James myself then-“

Before he could leave, however, Clover held out one of the beers in his hands, holding it carefully over the two-foot-wide gap between their verandas. “A peace offering,” he explained, waiting for the man to take the can.

Qrow seemed confused, but when Clover didn’t budge, he sighed, reluctantly reaching out and grabbing it. “Fine. Talk.”

Clover let out a long, weary breath. _Okay. I can do this._ So, as the other man set down his own glass and cracked open the can of beer, Clover began setting up the logistics of their work together. What were the timelines? When did he like having edits back to him? How could Clover support him?

Qrow seemed less than engaged. “We won’t need much work,” he said airily. “It’s already done-“

Clover choked on his own beer, coughing frantically. “It is _not_ done,” he replied. Did the man honestly think that Clover was going to let him publish such a lackluster novel?!

Qrow narrowed his eyes, wary. “You have an issue with it?”

Clover shrugged, then held out the long list of edits and suggestions he had laid out in regards to the general structure. “Get going, _Mr. Branwen,”_ he said icily. “I’ll begin my more detailed edits after these initial changes.” When Qrow just stared at him, he shrugged. “Look. You have the option of working with me, or- oh wait. That’s it, based on everyone else’s reactions at the office. And even if I’d like to change assignments, James wants me to stay here.” After a moment, he softened, deflating a little. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m a huge fan, you know. I want to make this book a success, too.”

The elder rolled his eyes, hackles clearly raising at Clover’s brusqueness.

Still, when Clover finally went back inside his apartment that day to go about making lunch, Qrow had indeed taken the paper with his suggestions, and a timeline had been set to send back the first chapter. _Okay. Progress._ Clover was happy with that- he was _not_ going to push his luck with this man.


	5. Chapter 5

**_v_ **

Clover relished in that week after finally figuring out a schedule with Qrow. The man had promised to send back the general changes by the weekend, so Clover took that time to fully mark up the first chapter with all of his more precise commentary; hopefully the man could use the comments as an example to begin reworking the rest of the book once he read Clover’s more detailed thoughts.

James allowed Clover to work from home for most of that time. “I’m not going to make your day harder, especially if you’re able to actually work with him,” he explained ruefully. “I’ll just check in next week.” So, Clover got to wake up early, work out, relax while eating his breakfast, and work in his living room all day; all in relative peace and quiet, with no other women coming into Qrow’s apartment. His sleep had never felt so restful.

But finally, the weekend came and Qrow’s second draft was sitting in his inbox. Clover was a little worried as to what to say; he had tried to incorporate as much of Winter’s feedback into his own, but based on how temperamental Qrow seemed, it was likely that a lot of it had been ignored.

To his pleasant surprise, most of it had been taken to heart. It still lacked the vibrancy of Qrow’s other works, but it was a lot less painful to read, and that was a start. James, for one, seemed happy when Clover reported his progress.

Perhaps seeing that initial acceptance of his commenting style made him lower his guard, the man deciding on sending his more detailed comments on the first chapter right away. _Maybe this can actually work,_ Clover that, filling up with hope as he skimmed over the second typed draft. _I’ll be able to work with Qrow Branwen properly, and we’ll make something great._

Despite Qrow’s acidic personality, Clover’s eyes couldn’t help but falling onto his bookshelf. The thought of adding another publication to that top shelf- one with _his_ name inside- kept him going.

When loud, angry knocking began to echo through his apartment from his front door, Clover jumped that Sunday morning, cursing as he spilled a bit of coffee onto the table. Quickly wiping it up, he hurried to the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and he certainly didn’t _look_ ready to receive guests- his hair wasn’t gelled back, he was in pyjama pants and a sleeveless black shirt, and he barely felt ready to face the day, having stayed up too late reading the revised manuscript.

Still, the knocking was not going away. He opened the door, irritated as he muttered, “Hi, may I _help you-_ “

A dark-haired, red-eyed storm brushed past him, oozing annoyance from every pore. Clover sighed, slumping over slightly and cracking his neck to the side as Qrow growled, “What the hell were those edits? You’re way too picky- half of those things you sent aren’t even issues!”

Mildly, Clover replied, “Welcome to my apartment. I’m doing well, thank you. Come on in, make yourself comfortable. Coffee?”

Qrow glared at him as he closed the door, his open laptop in hand with the annotated manuscript on-screen. “I still can’t believe I agreed to let you work on this stuff,” the man growled bitterly.

Clover crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching the man curiously. The other man was similarly dressed, clearly just as bleary-eyed and tired as Clover. But, Qrow’s anger faded for a moment as he looked at Clover, expression growing surprised in a peculiar way.

Internally, Clover groaned. _Did I spill coffee on myself? Why is he looking like that?_ He glanced down at himself quickly, but no stains were visible- he was just a sleepy, disgruntled man trying to wake up enough to maybe make breakfast.

Still, there was not much he could do as Qrow’s face flickered back to frustration. He looked about to continue arguing about Clover’s detailed comments on the first chapter when the man’s eyes landed upon the bookshelf. Clover’s breath caught in his throat, panic washing over him in a nauseating wave. Why was he feeling embarrassed? He had already told Qrow he was a huge fan. What was wrong with supporting one’s favourite author?

 _But usually authors don’t see a reader’s obsessive collections of their works,_ he reminded himself silently, plodding back over to his small kitchen table. Qrow continued to examine the bookshelf, reaching up and pulling out different volumes of his own work- he seemed to be calming down by doing that, so Clover simply went to his coffee maker, poured out another cup for Qrow, then brought the cup to the table as well. Then, he took his seat again and sipped his coffee, waiting for the elder to pay him mind again.

Finally, Qrow turned around. Shockingly enough, the man looked embarrassed- a slight flush on his cheeks extended into the tips of his ears, and he looked down, unsure of what to say. He looked almost ashamed, guilty.

Clover blinked, taking it all in. He had not been expecting that kind of reaction. It made the elder appear oddly humble, almost sweet.

However, it was clear that Qrow didn’t know what to say, so Clover shrugged, giving the man an easy smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said I’m a fan,” he said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Low-key took this job despite better offers elsewhere because I wanted to one day work with you.”

“Really now.” It wasn’t a question, but there was no animosity there.

Clover’s smile grew. _That’s a start._ “I didn’t expect you to be so willful, but-“

“Okay, back off, kid.” And just like that, the fire returned to Qrow’s eyes. However, the hostility stayed away, so when Clover gestured to the empty seat at his table and the waiting cup of coffee, Qrow sighed and trudged over, putting his laptop down and showing Clover where he disagreed.

As they spoke, Clover felt himself relaxing completely. When Qrow wasn’t being aggressive, he was actually a very entertaining conversation partner. Their banter was easy, their jokes quick and free-flowing. Yet, there was a rhythm to the way Qrow spoke, a fluidity in the way he carried across his argument with poignant ease.

Clover liked listening to Qrow’s voice, he found. It was low and rough and raspy, thick with sleep and world-weariness, but the husky tone still set Clover’s heart at ease. He’d never say it, though.

After addressing all of Qrow’s complaints (and not budging on any of them, because Clover wasn’t giving up on recapturing that spark that was lacking in this work- no way in hell) Qrow finally groaned, downing the rest of his coffee and glancing around the apartment. “Ugh, enough of this.” Scrutinizing bare walls, he added, “You moved here a few weeks ago, but you still don’t have a lot of stuff, do you?”

Clover shook his head, looking around at the fairly empty apartment. He had never been one for knickknacks and baubles- the only thing in the apartment that truly set his place apart from anyone else’s minimalist home was the bookshelf. “I’m not a fan of clutter,” he said.

Qrow hummed, still looking around. “No pictures at all, damn. What, no pics of a girlfriend, either?”

Clover took the man’s coffee mug along with his own and brought them over to the sink. “No,” he replied easily. “I left my partner when I moved from Argus.”

Qrow let out a long whistle. “Damn, that’s a hefty move. You don’t sound too beaten up about that, though.”

The younger shrugged, leaning back against the sink. His mind flitted back to his ex- to the anger in her eyes, the bitter edge in her smile as she had told him they couldn’t be together if he was indeed going to move all the way to Vale.

He hadn’t been too upset back then, either. Their relationship had been falling apart for months. “Robyn wanted me to stay and help her business in Argus,” he said simply. “She told me that she wasn’t going to do long-distance, so it was either take a copywriter job there, or get the chance to work here.”

“Copywriting pays decent money, though,” Qrow said airily, standing up and wandering back to the bookshelf. “Why not stay?”

“I told you. I wanted to meet you.” He winked at the man playfully. “I didn’t think it’d happen so soon, though. I lucked out.”

Qrow’s face twisted into a snub pout, but Clover didn’t miss how the flush spread across his face, a delicate pink growing even deeper this time. He didn’t know what to think of it, but long after Qrow left and Clover began working on similar edits to the next few chapters, he found his mind drifting to that image of reddened ears and clumsy exits over and over again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer chapter now that we're over the halfway point of this silly little story.
> 
> Leave a comment if you're reading along! I love hearing what y'all think lol

**_vi._ **

While Clover felt pride in his work and was more than confident that he was doing everything well, working with Qrow Branwen was still _difficult._

No matter what he did, Qrow was resistant to changing the story. It was a fairly generic piece; just the tale of an older man finding peace after a turbulent period in his life. Clover could easily see how, if Qrow’s previous charm and style was embedded into this novel, it would be a success. No matter what they did to it as it was, however, the book just felt so dull that he almost wanted to throw it off his balcony most days.

It was absolutely baffling. How could the man who had made so many other incredible works write something so lackluster now? This thought haunted Clover over the next week, bringing him back to his bookshelf time and time again to examine older works. Was it the man’s style which changed? No, not particularly. Was it his characterization and setup of the protagonists and conflicts? No, that was fine, in general. So what was lacking?

That question wormed its way into his gut, lingering as he finished going over edit after edit, line by line. How could he possibly convey to Qrow what he needed to change, if he couldn’t even find the words to describe what was missing?

The next weekend, Clover gave up. He had spent half the day pouring over the manuscript page by page. _At least James is being kind with deadlines and whatnot,_ he thought ruefully, remembering his email exchange with his boss. The man had been more than understanding with Clover’s slow progress, just contented that Qrow was actually working with someone somewhat-professionally. Trying to fit tight deadlines was one headache he wouldn’t have to worry about thanks to that kindness.

After a quick run and a shower, Clover found himself staring into his reflection in the fogged-up mirror of his bathroom. His chiseled body was lit up thanks to bright fluorescent lighting, and he took a moment to smile, appreciating his form. He had originally been worried about getting out of shape while settling into Vale; it was nice to see his efforts hadn’t failed him.

Absentmindedly, his fingers traced a finger across the scar tissue sprawled across his chest and upper stomach. It had taken quite a few years to get used to looking at the pale, puffy skin, jagged and ugly and twisted, marring his flesh. Now, however, it probably would’ve looked stranger to go without it.

It was proof that he was still here, after all.

His fingers fell to his waist, where at the end of the scar, a small, four-leaf clover was tattooed, green leaves glistening with water from his shower. Clover smiled, pressing into his own skin, fingertips running along the words written underneath it, right above a jagged line of forever-red scar tissue left from emergency surgery.

 _I wonder what he’d say if he knew I’d quoted him?_ he thought wryly, imagining Qrow’s red eyes widening in flustered shock.

His mind moved onto his neighbour. How had the man been holding up? They hadn’t truly interacted over the week, communicating usually through emails. _He hasn’t been hosting anyone,_ Clover realized faintly, _so I wonder if he’s even at home? Maybe he’s been staying somewhere else?_

His curiosity began to mount. Eventually, it got the better of him, and Clover was soon dressed, hair hastily dried and a few beers from his fridge in hand. _This should be a good peace offering, right?_

To his surprise, Qrow _was_ home. He opened his front door when Clover knocked, yawning as if he’d just woken up from a nap despite it only being 4pm on a weekend. Delicious smells wafted out, the stove hood whirring in the background. “Whaddya want, kid?” Qrow asked, cracking his knuckles and neck from side to side.

“Just wanted to check in, since it’s been a week since I’ve seen you. Unless you don’t want that, neighbour?” He held out the beer, a small, hopeful smile on his face.

Deadpan, Qrow took the cans out of his hand. “Get in.”

To Clover’s surprise, the apartment smelled great, the sounds of sizzling food in a wok on the stovetop permeating through the entire studio. Qrow yawned again, walking back over to the stove and messing with the stir-fry he apparently had been prepping before Clover’s unexpected arrival. “You got allergies?”

Clover paused, looking back at Qrow in surprise as he took a seat at the kitchen island. “No, I’m good.”

“’Kay.” With that, Qrow went back to cooking, moving like an automaton as he seasoned and sautéed ingredients perfectly.

With a zombie-like Qrow occupied with cooking, Clover spun around on the barstool he sat upon, looking around at the apartment. It was starkly different to his own- posters were hung up on the walls, photographs lining a small bookshelf on the side that seemed to be filled with more yearbooks and figurines than with actual books. Random flowers and little origami animals sat on one coffee table, looking quite out of place. A few stuffed animals also lingered here and there on random surfaces, and a small, utilitarian bed tucked into the corner paled in comparison to the plush, comfortable-looking foldout couch that sat in front of the large television mounted on the wall, hooked up to numerous gaming consoles sitting on a shelf below it.

Clover didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t really been _this._ The way the toys, the games, the photographs and flowers; none of them seemed to resemble Qrow Branwen at all.

The one thing that actually felt somber in the otherwise-cheery apartment was a small photograph stuck to the fridge with a flower magnet. Clover debated standing up and checking it out; at a distance, it just seemed like a picture of Qrow with three other people, standing in some greenery. The edges were stained, a clear fold creasing the center as if it had been folded up and smoothed out a hundred times over already. Clover shelved that desire- perhaps he would get a chance to examine it closer another day.

Then, Clover remembered the video call Qrow had made that second time he had ever seen the man. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Qrow, do you have children?”

That question caught the elder’s attention, the man actually bothering to look up at Clover as he scooped generous portions of rice into mismatched bowls. “Nah. I have nieces. Why?”

Clover gestured at the apartment, a small smile growing on his face despite himself. “It just… all of this stuff doesn’t really seem like _you._ ”

“Pft, what do you know about me,” Qrow snorted, plating the stir-fry and bringing the bowls over to Clover. “But you’re right, most of this stuff is for whenever they come over.”

“Do they know you’re a writer?”

“Of course.” Qrow handed Clover a bowl and portioned out the veggies and meat onto a separate plate for Clover before tossing him a fork. “Although they won’t ever read my fucking books.”

Clover smiled, passing Qrow one of the beers and looking at the food. It looked simple, but it smelled delicious. “Oh yeah?”

Qrow snapped open his can and held it up. Clover stared at him for a moment, then felt his face heat up, quickly opening up his own can. The two men clinked cans and took a swig before settling in to eat.

After a few bites, Qrow explained, “The girls always just ask about source material. Too lazy to read the books for their damn selves.” There was no animosity in his voice, though.

Clover’s heart softened. The amount of warmth exuding from the elder could only have been matched by the smile on his face that day when Clover spied him making a video call. _I guess he was talking to his niece,_ he thought. _That’s surprisingly sweet._ It certainly was unexpected to see such a gruff man acting so dotingly.

Then again, Clover didn’t question it. He could easily imagine Qrow being good with children- after all, what truly selfish person would allow his nieces to decorate his entire apartment for them like this, filling it up with what could only be their little gifts and baubles and belongings?

Something else Qrow said intrigued him, though. “Are you saying your novels are based on real life?”

Qrow’s fork stilled, halfway through stabbing a bell pepper. “To an extent,” he replied carefully, avoiding Clover’s gaze. “Most of them were based on dumb adventures I’ve had, or just things people in my life have gone through. It’s all extrapolated to hell and back, though.”

Clover had to marvel at that admission. To think that Qrow had managed to take normal, everyday occurrences and right so prolifically in so many different genres was still astounding to him. Before he could think twice, Clover asked, “What about _Summer’s End?”_

Qrow coughed on his rice, choking for a moment. Clover immediately stood and grabbed the man a glass of water, awkwardly waiting for Qrow to breathe again.

Draining the glass, Qrow said, “What about it?”

“That book… was that also based on-“

He couldn’t even finished before Qrow had stood, the stool he had been sitting upon screeching against the hardwood flooring. “That’s not your business, boy scout,” he seethed quietly, anger rolling off his body in waves. “Now, did you need to ask anything about the manuscript, or?”

Clover immediately held his hands up, a sign of peace. “I’m sorry if I went too far, you don’t need to answer-“ But Qrow apparently had had enough, his face a stony mask; brow furrowed, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. Clover sighed, nodding his head in defeated acceptance. “Alright. I’ll head out.”

Qrow didn’t watch him leave, and Clover re-entered his apartment feeling even more confused than he had been before. He didn’t know how to parse Qrow’s words, his sudden anger at touching what had clearly been a delicate subject; but more than that, he didn’t know how to deal with the sense of loss, of regret, of _loneliness_ permeating through his skin, down into his core.

If _Summer’s End_ had been based on Qrow’s life…

Clover didn’t want to think on it. But with his work caught up for the day, he found that that was the only thought upon which he could focus, and the insurmountable sadness triggered by it kept him up long into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more chapters left in this silly lil' project! 
> 
> Let me know what you think :D

**_vii._ **

Clover wasn’t able to sleep that night, but it wasn’t because of another party next door. There were no voices, just the faint sound of a movie playing in Qrow’s place; however, it didn’t bother Clover. _Let the man live his life,_ he thought as he gave up trying to sleep, making himself a cup of tea instead.

No, the thing that kept him wide awake was the actual manuscript. How in the world could he help Qrow with this story? Hell, the thing didn’t even have a _name_ yet. That lack of title felt representative of the lack of clarity for the whole piece.

Reaching out to James didn’t help much either. When he asked about what his boss knew about Qrow’s personal life at the moment, James simply replied, “Qrow’s gone through a lot of things throughout his life. You’d be surprised. But recently-“

“Recently?”

“-actually, it’s not really my place to say.” After a moment, he did offer, “I mean, I know he’s been stressed about _one_ thing happening, although he’s refusing to talk about it; everyone in our circle knows, though.”

While Clover was curious as to who ‘everyone’ could refer too, he contented himself with listening patiently to what the man had to say, desperately trying to think of how he could make those responses relevant to the current manuscript.

Unfortunately, at the end of the day, he kept coming back to the same quiet wish: what if they just… didn’t publish the book? But that wouldn’t work- the book was already written, after all. He couldn’t possibly do that, right?

And that was why on Monday morning, Clover already had an extra coffee ready to go on his dining table and another omelette cooking in the pan when Qrow attempted to break down his door yet again, screaming, “You want me to _scrap the whole fucking book_?!”

Clover had expected the reaction, so he simply pulled out a chair for Qrow, gestured for him to have a seat, and plated the finished food. Bringing it over to the table, he asked, “Salt? Pepper? Ketchup? Hot sauce?”

Qrow snarled, so Clover merely replied, “Okay, I’ll bring it all. Take your pick.” _Stay cool,_ he told himself silently, repeating those words as he went through the motions of bringing over their coffees, condiments, and taking a seat. Placing cutlery beside Qrow he said, “Eat while it’s hot! Eggs are sad when they’re cold.” The vein in Qrow’s forehead pulsed even more prominently, so Clover sighed, leaning forward across the table. “Eat. I’ll tell you what I mean, but not without coffee. C’mon, old man.”

It took a few moments of staring him down deadpan, but eventually, Qrow began to reluctantly poke at Clover’s cooking. Satisfied, Clover took a sip of his coffee and dug in, taking a few bites before finally saying, “So. I’ve been thinking about it for quite a while now-“

“Not long enough, boy scout,” Qrow grumbled.

“-and I realized that you yourself have already figured out why this book isn’t coming together.” Qrow opened his mouth to retort, but Clover added, “You cannot tell me that this book is on the same level as your past works.”

Qrow looked away, bitterly taking a bite of egg and mushroom.

Pleased, Clover continued, “You said it yourself the other day; your books are always stories based off of your personal life, or the experiences of those around you. They feel _real,_ Qrow. There’s depth and care and love in them, and that’s what makes them so engaging. What do you actually relate to in this one?”

Qrow didn’t respond.

Clover grinned, leaning back into his chair triumphantly. “Exactly. What you need to do is write something that _means something to you._ ” He reached back to his counter, where he had placed his laptop. “And I know what that is.”

The elder raised a brow, completely unconvinced.

Gleefully, Clover said, “James told me your nieces are both going to university soon, right? He said you’ve been worried sick, especially after something happened at their home- he didn’t tell me what, so don’t worry. I didn’t ask, either. It’s not my business.” He softened, still in awe at the amount of care Qrow clearly held for his nieces. Clearly everyone knew about it, too. “But the younger one’s skipping some grades, right? Suddenly, you’ll all have an empty nest. I can’t imagine that’s easy. Why not write about that?”

Qrow’s gaze was hard, unflinching. For a few minutes, they were silent. Clover didn’t mind- he was starving after his morning workout, so he was happy to eat his food and wait for the finicky man’s response.

Finally, Qrow muttered, “…when do you want a first draft?”

 _I did it._ It took every ounce of willpower he had to bite back the victorious smile that threatened to emerge.

And so, Qrow left his apartment, fed and less annoyed than when he had entered. They made a plan to revisit the previous book later, so that work wouldn’t go to waste. Clover was just happy he wouldn’t have to read such middling nonsense anymore, and instead have something else to look forward to.

And look forward to it, he did. How could he not? He was going to get a new manuscript from Qrow Branwen, untouched by any other editor. This was going to be _his_ project with Qrow. It was like a dream.

When the outline and first draft of the beginning chapters arrived in Clover’s inbox days later, he almost cheered. And, a few hours later, when the entire thing had been given multiple passes and Clover was content that he had seen everything the draft had to offer, he could come to the conclusion that this manuscript was also _not good._

Clover was genuinely surprised Qrow hadn’t tried to punch him yet. Glaring at him across the two-foot gap between their verandas, Qrow cried, “What do you mean, you don’t like it?”

“The idea’s great!” Clover replied, completely honest. He _did_ adore this new concept way more than the previous one, and he was more than impressed that Qrow had already delivered so much on a first pass. “It’s just… I have a lot of notes. Bear with me here.” But as Clover explained his thoughts and gave the elder critiques, Qrow’s mounting anger only grew to a bubbling crescendo.

To his credit, he didn’t freak out again. Instead, Qrow managed to reign in his temper and simply mutter, “Winter doesn’t bother me with this shit. When’s she coming back again?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you bully me,” Clover laughed. “You’re stuck for now. Just be grateful that I genuinely want to see this become a success.”

Surprisingly enough, Qrow relaxed completely at that, a weary, exasperated, almost _affectionate_ smile on his face. Clover sucked in a breath, eyes widening as Qrow leaned forward on his balcony’s railing. His gaze caught sight of long, thin fingers reaching up, running through grey-streaked hair, pushing it back out of those unnaturally-red eyes, all easy grace and perfect lighting as the evening sky cast a warm, amber glow to his skin.

“I guess that’s true, kid,” Qrow laughed, a little defeated; a little humble. “…Thanks. For putting up with it.”

His heart hammered in his chest, palms clammy, air lodged in his throat. He finally whispered, “Always.”

And Qrow waved goodnight and headed in, looking at the list of edits and suggestions Clover had emailed him on his phone, leaving Clover behind to wonder just when exactly he had begun to like the prickly Qrow Branwen as a person just as much as he liked Qrow Branwen, the writer.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have actually managed to get *ahead* of my work. Who even am I?

_**viii.** _

Clover took a moment to glance around his apartment. It was just as clean and tidy as always, the only things lying about being the smattering of papers, sticky tabs and a coffee cup that seemed perpetually parked on the living room table. Sunlight was filtering in through the veranda, and he absently made a note to wash the door one of these days- a recent rainstorm had left streaks on the glass. His dishes were done and his laundry from that morning was already folded and put away in his small closet, and although there was still a little bit of takeout left in the to-go containers on his dining room table, he could clean it up later. So, all he had to do was focus on his work.

Oh, and avoid bothering Qrow who was sitting on his couch, long legs sprawled down the length of it, computer on his lap, headphones on, the light tapping of fingers on keys the only sound audible in the whole apartment.

For a brief second, all Clover could do was watch the man methodically type. It was marvellous to watch; every time Qrow figured out what he wanted to say, his eyes would glaze over and he’d run on autopilot, his fingers a blur across his keyboard. Clover had always wondered how, in the peak of Qrow’s career, he had managed to pump out so many novels of quality a year, but now it all made sense.

 _I still can’t believe he’s just started writing here,_ he thought wryly, shaking his head in amusement and going back to the draft he was looking over. The elder had gotten sick of trying to bust down Clover’s door, finally showing up one day with drinks and snacks in hand and announcing, “I’m taking your couch.” Ever since then, he had come by every morning after Clover’s workouts, writing away in different corners of Clover’s small studio.

That way, whenever he wanted to yell about an edit, all he had to do was yell, “Hey, boy scout!”

It was almost embarrassing how quickly Clover came running every single time.

When he finally made another visit to the office to report his progress and grab some supplies from his desk, he ran into James and Oz. To Clover’s horror, the latter had been here to check out Elm’s top picks of her erotic dumpster-fire lineup. When he saw Clover, however, Oz immediately became extremely curious to see how the project was going, and when Clover explained that they were shelving his previous work in favour of a new one, Oz’s eyes lit up expectantly. “So he hasn’t kicked you out, _and_ he’s working on a new project?”

“How far has he gotten?” James asked.

As Clover excitedly shared their progress, Oz’s eyes softened behind those tinted glasses. “I’m glad to see he’s found someone with whom he works well,” he murmured with pride. “It’ll be good for him.”

“Oz, you talk like he’s still a teenager,” James laughed.

“Well, considering he’s still just as moody as one-“

Clover snorted, despite trying his best to remain professional.

Oz placed a comforting hand on the editor’s shoulder. “Keep at it, and who knows? Maybe you’ll make something together that will surprise the world. What’s your favourite book by him?” After Clover shared his response, Oz’s hand squeezed down on his shoulder. “James was right- you’re a good choice.” And Clover was left there to smile and nod and pretend that he wasn’t stealing office paper from the shared printer behind his desk while the two older men headed into James’ office.

When he finally arrived home, he found Qrow typing away on his own veranda next door. “About time you got back here,” Qrow growled. “I sent you the next two chapters.”

“Sounds good.” Clover drew up a chair to the edge of his balcony, setting his laptop up on his table. Before he could open them, though, he mentioned offhand, “I ran into James and Oz today.”

To his surprise, Qrow’s face lit up. “How’s Oz doing?”

The amount of unguarded enthusiasm in Qrow’s face knocked Clover off-guard. Carefully, he asked, “Oh, he seems to be well. May I ask how you know him?”

Qrow’s brows immediately furrowed, and Clover sighed, steeling himself against one of Qrow’s rants. They always began when Clover pried too much.

However, Qrow caught himself and softened, acquiescing with little complaint. “Oz and I go way back,” he explained tiredly. “I… He was the one who told me to start writing. Some stuff was happening, and I, uh… didn’t really know how to deal with it. So he told me to write it out, and then he kept reading it, then somehow I ended up here.”

Clover leaned forward, silently encouraging him to keep going. He had figured it was something like that- Oz was the sort of figure who seemed oddly ageless, and Clover could easily imagine the man approaching a young Qrow, sagely offering words of wisdom.

Qrow shrugged, not interested in sharing more. “You know what happened.”

_Um… what?_

A small smile grew on Qrow’s lips, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “You read _Summer’s End,_ right?”

Clover’s heart sank in his chest. What was he supposed to say to that? The only words that could come to mind were, “So… you wrote it first, but published it later.”

The elder nodded, still typing away half-heartedly. However, as Clover sat there patiently waiting, Qrow didn’t continue speaking. He simply typed, a crease in his brow, the clacking of his laptop keys staggered and off-kilter.

Eventually, Clover admitted defeat. The conversation was over. “Thanks, Qrow. I’ll check over what you’ve got, so send it to me whenever.”

Solemnly, Qrow nodded.

There was a tiny pang in Clover’s chest as he returned inside to his living room, leaving the writer on his own veranda. As he left, however, he added, “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you published that book. It really means a lot to me, as corny as that sounds.” He didn’t bother to look at Qrow’s reaction. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to find.

That being said, Qrow was nothing if not professional when it came to his deadlines. So, a few hours later when Clover’s email lit up with a new message, he was not surprised to see it coming from Qrow. As he looked it over, he was struck with a startling realization:

If they kept up this pace, they’d be done the entire novel in weeks. They’d go to publishing soon. Clover would have made this secret, pining dream of his come true at last.

It just didn’t feel real.

Bringing himself down to reality, he had to make a plan for the next day. He was unfazed by the amount of edits he knew he needed to pour into the latest part.

However, he _was_ surprised at the sound of something hitting his veranda door a few minutes after receiving it.

Confused, he stepped outside, not bothering to put on more than a pair of sweatpants. Littering his balcony was a handful of aluminum can tabs. Had they been tossed against the glass door? Absolutely baffled, Clover looked over to Qrow’s balcony, only to see the man chugging down a beer, another one lined up and ready to go, a third can sitting precariously on the edge of Clover’s balcony.

“Qrow, what are you doing?” Clover murmured. The sun had set long ago, and he didn’t want to disturb the neighbours. Even more concerning, however, was the tabs lying on his balcony and the beers in Qrow’s reach. “Are you okay?”

Qrow slammed down the emptied can onto his railing, wincing as the sound rang in the night air. “Oops,” he murmured, voice higher than usual.

Clover walked over to the railing and grabbed the full can barely half-seated upon the railing, placing it on his table. Leaning onto the handrail, he smiled at the elder, hoping to get a response. “Qrow? Did you need to talk?”

With a sigh, Qrow nodded.

After a moment of letting it sink in, Clover found himself holding back a tiny, creeping laugh. “And you didn’t think to text me _why?” Okay, he’s drunker than I thought,_ Clover thought, leaning his cheek on his hand and watching the older man in amusement as Qrow took in that knowledge, only able to come up with the incredibly eloquent response of, “Oh, shit, yeah.”

But as Qrow took in a deep breath, eyes glazing over just like it did when he began to write, Clover understood. It seemed Qrow had a story to tell, and Clover wasn’t going to stop him.


	9. Chapter 9

_**ix.** _

For a few moments, Qrow was silent, just looking out into the night sky on his balcony. It was hard to see his features; the city lights were too far away to illuminate him, and Qrow’s apartment was dark, so all Clover could clearly see were the elder’s glassy eyes in the night. However, that silence eventually led to chatter, and Clover just… listened.

He debated on stopping Qrow. Clearly, the few beers hadn’t been all he’d had to drink before calling Clover out. Clearly, he hadn’t been in the best place after Clover had brought up _Summer’s End._

Clearly, Clover didn’t know how to say _no_ to those red eyes, desperately lonely in the darkness.

“You wanted to know what had inspired the first book that,” and Qrow threw his arm out in a grandiose gesture, waving to an audience of nothing, “began this _illustrious_ career.”

He clearly wasn’t alright.

But Clover didn’t stop him; he couldn’t, not when those thin lips parted and finally began to open up to Clover for the first time, the enigma finally becoming undone.

So, Qrow spoke. To Clover’s surprise, it wasn’t just ramblings; it was a story. And by the end of it all, when Qrow finished rambling and staggered back inside, Clover was left reeling in his seat, trying to make sense of it all, Qrow’s words engrained into his brain.

He didn’t know if he could forget them if he wanted to; not when he could see the parallels between the words filling the night air in Qrow’s husky, weary voice, and the novel Clover had practically memorized after the accident years earlier.

“We were always good, but Summer was _perfect,_ ” Qrow had breathed. “We were best friends. Nineteen. Me, and her, and Tai and Rae- nothing could stop us. We got into the same college. I didn’t wanna go, but Rae said we might as well ‘cause we got scholarship money, so we did. And Summer was _there,_ and she was stupid and dorky and- _god,_ Ruby is just like her, it’s almost _terrifying.”_ And he had tilted his head back and just _laughed,_ halfway to hysterics when he had finally continued, “You cannot believe how Tai got Rae to fall in love with him, that bastard.” The hysterics died down, the man deathly still. “And after Yang was born, she left us behind. All of us.”

Qrow had paused, looking down miserably at his hands hanging over the edge of his balcony limply. “I still don’t get why she left us all behind.” Then, as if filled with renewed vigour, Qrow had continued, “But Yang needed a mom! And Summer was _perfect,_ that _damned idiot,_ so she wasn’t mom- she became _supermom._ And she brought Yang to our writing seminars and she got Yang’s first words and first steps and… and Tai.” The manic grin was back, almost panicked this time. “And then she had little Ruby.” Proudly, Qrow had fumbled with his phone and showed Clover his screen, the image of bright-eyed blonde and brunette girls grinning happily back at him. “And Ruby was just as perfect. And just as stupid. And I was ‘Uncle Qwow’,” and his own imitation had sent him into a fit of giggles, “until she learned to say her Rs.”

Clover had wanted to cry listening to it. He still wanted to cry then. He had known what was coming. He wished he hadn’t. It was nothing more than a train wreck, just waiting to happen.

“And then Summer told me to always take care of her girls, you know.” Qrow’s grin had been goofy and loving and just so _fond_ that Clover couldn’t breathe, the warmth in his face enough to light something so painfully _raw_ in the younger man that he didn’t even know how to form any coherent thought.

Qrow had sighed, long and weary, expelling all of his woes in that one breath. “I promised her I would. For her and Tai. And then she went on a work trip and she never came back, and neither did a part of Tai. She took it with her.

“And that, kiddo,” Qrow had slurred at the end of it all, “is why life is _fucking complicated_ and it never gets any easier, and we all die in the end. Enjoy.” And then, he had stumbled back inside his own dark apartment.

It was so _painfully_ similar to the story of the novel. What made it worse was just how closely it landed to Clover’s own heart; and how the new novel they were working on showcased just how vulnerable Qrow truly felt, even today. After all, the gripping family drama they were working together on of a parent having to deal with an empty nest for the first time in nearly twenty years was full of yearning for _something._ Yearning for another person to stumble into the home, to make it a little bit brighter.

Qrow didn’t want to be left behind. He was _sick_ of being left behind, and every word Clover read screamed that sentiment more and more.

The next morning, Clover was already on his third cup of coffee when Qrow stumbled into his apartment, clutching his head and groaning. There was already a bottle of water and a greasy breakfast on the table, set out in wait for the elder. Qrow grumbled, “Remind me what happened?”

Clover gulped down the remaining bitter dregs of his coffee, placing the cup in the sink. The caffeine still wasn’t enough to stop him from yawning after barely having slept the night before, too distracted by Qrow’s story. “ _Summer’s End,_ ” he replied.

“Fuck. Guess I said it.” Qrow slammed down the glass of water and began to eat, not reacting when Clover sat down and joined him. He didn’t make eye contact, however, as he murmured, “…Any questions?”

“You and your friend Tai raised the girls?”

“Yup.”

“What happened to Rae? Who was she, anyway?”

“Siblings. Raven and I are twins. She’s… complicated.”

“You loved Summer?”

“…Yup.”

“You weren’t angry that she and Tai…”

“Why be angry that my two best friends found peace in each other?” The response was genuine, but so was the exasperated sigh that slipped out of him as he leaned back in his chair, chugging down more water. “Look, kid, I never wanted to be with her. With _anyone._ Those two were perfect for each other- bright and energetic. Fit to raise two bubbly kids. Hell, Tai’s the best dad in the world. I’m happy with being just the bachelor uncle who lives off one-nights and-“

“Bullshit,” Clover muttered.

Qrow choked on a piece of bacon.

While he coughed, Clover said, “Your nieces seem like they love you, and you love them. You’re not living for just bullshit, Qrow.” He wanted to add on his observation from the night before, but… how? After all, he was still mildly reeling from the fact that he had finally learned the truth behind that novel- and that Qrow had actually trusted him enough to share.

…It was an honour.

When Qrow could breathe again, he chuckled. “I’d give anything for them.” The humour was returning to Qrow’s hungover, haggard face.

“And it shows in your writing.” Before he could think twice about it, Clover reached out and grabbed Qrow’s hand resting the edge of the table. “Trust me; this book is already good, even if I’m nitpicking a lot. We’re going to make this a success.”

And then to his surprise, Qrow’s cheeks turned a pale pink, and the weary man relaxed, a warm smile melting across his lips. The image sent a distinct jolt of desire through Clover- the other man looked so _sweet,_ but that was no reason for him to feel so flushed…

Right?

But when Clover’s eyes fell to Qrow’s lips, and he absently wondered what they would taste like…

Qrow took the last bite of his food and stretched. Despite the elder being all creaking joints and tired yawns, Clover found that he still couldn’t look away as Qrow murmured, “Y’know, you ain’t so bad, kid. I’ve had a lot of bad luck in my life.” And he smiled, a sweetness in his eyes that stole Clover’s breath from his lungs. “Maybe getting you was good; maybe you’re good luck.”

Mustering up every ounce of normalcy he could, Clover laughed shakily, “You say that as if you’re not.”

Qrow leaned back and let out a long, bitter guffaw. “Haven’t you _read my books?_ ” the man cried, pointing to Clover’s bookshelf. “Of _course_ I’m not good luck- have you not read all the sad shit in my novels?”

He wanted to protest, but the majority of Qrow’s books were indeed heartbreaking. Clover sighed, “Well… you’ve done a lot of good, you know.”

That phrase caught Qrow’s attention. “Oh really, how so?”

And Clover froze. Where in the world could he start? It wasn’t exactly easy breakfast conversation to confess exactly how his family had passed away- how _he_ had almost passed away. It wasn’t exactly simple to just announce, “Oh, yeah, I became an orphan tragedy right after my high school graduation and almost died myself.” What could he say?

Even after all these years, he still didn’t know how to explain his life other than by calling it ‘complicated’. So, instead of answering, Clover asked, “So what brought on this slump- writing a novel you weren’t invested in?”

Qrow didn’t seem to notice his deliberate swerve of the question. “Honestly?” The man stood, lumbering over to the sofa with his laptop, ready to get to typing once more. “Rae came back.”

“…What?”

Qrow’s smile was bitter, angry. “Almost four months ago, now. She thinks she can just… earn ‘mom’ points now. It’s not important- I’ve been able to avoid most of it- but it’s been really messing with Tai and the girls, and… I just didn’t feel like writing about her bullshit anymore, so I wrote something else.”

Clover walked over to the sofa, lingering behind Qrow. From behind, as the man sat on his couch, he looked _so small._ On instinct, Clover wanted to hold him- wanted to wrap him up in his arms, protecting him from the rest of the world that seemed so oddly fixated on making his life worse.

He didn’t do that. Instead, he placed a hand on Qrow’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Well,” he mused aloud, “you don’t have to put up with anything. Family isn’t always blood, y’know.”

He didn’t see Qrow’s face, but it almost felt like Qrow leaned to the side, his dark hair brushing against Clover’s hand as he hummed in assent. When he felt that touch, Clover retracted his hand and took a seat at the counter, facing away from Qrow. There, he spent the rest of the morning desperately trying to calm his own heartrate- desperately telling himself that he wasn’t attracted to Qrow Branwen. Qrow was just his favourite author, right? And Clover was just an editor.

But the flush in his cheeks and the heat in his core wouldn’t dissipate as he heard Qrow typing innocently behind him all morning although Clover was _definitely straight but why did he feel so turned on, he hadn’t felt that way since long before Robyn finally dumped him and-_

By the time Qrow left his apartment, Clover didn’t know whether he had read a single word.


	10. Chapter 10

_**x.** _

Work on the book progressed better than could’ve been expected. After their conversation about the inspiration behind _Summer’s End_ and the reason behind Qrow’s previous writer’s block, the chapters seemed to flow out faster than Clover had time to even give them a glance. He had known that Qrow was a rapid writer, but _this?_ How in the world was Qrow managing to write so much? _Why_ was he writing so much?

Clover couldn’t complain, however. The work was rawer than before- more vulnerable, more touching. He found a similar spark behind Qrow’s words to the one in his first novel, igniting the same drive and curiosity and empathy within Clover as he frantically turned the pages, always eager to read more. However, the light that the story kindled within him was softer, warmer. Older. Wiser.

Qrow had changed. So had his writing. And Clover couldn’t tear himself away, often reading and rereading chapters whilst lying in bed, fingers absentmindedly tracing his tattoos and his scar as he carved every word of this somber, bittersweet story into his soul.

They were almost completely finished with the second draft of the first half of the novel when Clover received a call from James asking him to come into the office. So, that afternoon Clover made the long commute to Atlas Publishing for the first time in two weeks, shouldering his backpack and ready to share the good news.

The office was buzzing with excitement as Clover entered the floor. Everyone was busy waving and greeting someone standing by the coffee tables. As Clover dropped off his bag and made his way over, however, it quickly became clear what was going on, and the leaden weight that dropped onto his chest because of it was nearly enough to knock him to the floor.

Winter was back.

It took her a few minutes to actually notice him standing shell-shocked in the corner of the room. Curtly, she thanked everyone for their greeting and beckoned Clover into the small conference room where he had first met Qrow. Seated upon the same chair Qrow had taken all those weeks before was James, a huge, welcoming smile on his face.

Clover wanted to listen. He really tried, following moving lips and appreciative nods and gesticulating hands. However, no matter how much he tried, their words faded away in his mind just as static buzzing and melding into the echoing din of the office.

Winter had had a family emergency. Her mother had gotten extremely sick, she said; afterwards, her younger sister and father had had a huge fallout, and her younger sibling had gotten involved. Winter had been gone playing both nursemaid and mediator, facilitating conflicts she hadn’t even known existed.

But that didn’t matter to Clover. The only thing that rang true for him was that Winter was back, and so based on the seniority system in the company… she was going to go back to being Qrow’s editor.

James placed large hands on his shoulders, looking Clover squarely in the eyes as the meeting drew to a close. “Don’t worry, Clover,” he murmured. Clover clenched his jaw as he saw the hint of regret in James’ eyes. “You’ve done a great job. We’ll find another spot for you soon.”

His words felt so empty.

Still, Clover had no choice but to smile and accept it. After all, he had only been a temporary stand-in. He had known what he was signing up for from the start.

It still hurt.

Barely two hours after he came home, all his drive to work having been stripped away from him as he looked at the frustrating pile of potential manuscripts he had been sent home with, his front door was being violently attacked. Sighing, Clover stood and opened it, barely stepping back in time to avoid Qrow accidentally banging his fist on Clover’s face instead.

Or maybe hitting Clover had been the intention, after all. Qrow’s eyes burned, red sparking with fury like Clover had never seen before. The man pushed passed him, all stomping strides and tense, hunched shoulders. Clover leaned against the wall, looking impassively at Qrow. He wanted to muster up a smile, but he just felt too forlorn.

“What the hell was that call?” Qrow finally spat out, seething.

Clover didn’t know the details, but he could guess. “I’m not your editor anymore.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

“Winter’s back.”

Qrow groaned, running frantic hands through his dark hair. “Are you fucking _kidding me-_ why does that even-“

“She’s your editor, Qrow,” Clover replied, deadpan. Then out of the blue, a bitter, envious sentiment curled up in his gut, rising into his throat like bile, crossing his tongue before he could stop it as he added, only half-joking, “Aren’t you happy to get rid of me?”

Qrow stopped short, staring at him open-mouthed, brows furrowed, anger vanishing only to be replaced by what Clover could only call betrayal. “Oh,” Qrow breathed, completely deflated. “…okay.”

And before Clover could find the words to reply, Qrow left again, closing Clover’s front door behind him.

It was quiet. And all Clover had to show for it was a stack of manuscripts he didn’t want to read, an email awaiting him as a reminder to continue working from the office again from then on, and a dauntingly-hollow apartment.

He sat down, staring at his living room. The only decoration was still the bookshelf. It was still empty besides Clover’s book collection- besides Qrow.

He let out a haggard, weary breath. _Okay._ Publishing with Qrow after only such a short time at the company… he had raised his hopes way too high. He had to let go; because even if he didn’t want to, he knew his place.

That didn’t stop himself from almost screaming when he sent off all of the pertinent files to Winter.

Clearly, Qrow felt the same- their business relationship was finished. From then on, with Clover going back to the office every day, he never saw the older man. Even when he tried sending Qrow a message, he received no replies.

“He’s fine,” Winter said when Clover asked about Qrow at the office a few days later. “Why?”

“Nothing.” And Clover had returned to his own desk, weary and exhausted and more than a little broken-hearted.

That sentiment was only amplified when, almost a week after Winter’s return, Clover heard a woman’s voice from Qrow’s room in the middle of the night. And a different voice the next night. And a different voice a few days after. It was always hushed, just a rustle of movement and faint murmurs, and a while later, clicking heels down the hall.

He liked to pretend that he didn’t tune in on it, that he hadn’t memorized the pattern by the second day. It didn’t matter, right? He could always just invest in earplugs.

But when Clover came back to his apartment over a week later and heard not one, but _two_ bright, female voices squealing and laughing next door, Clover’s bitterness and heartbreak could no longer be tamped down. He resigned himself to sitting at his dining table, beer in hand with more lining the fridge door, drinking can after can to drown out the haunting realizations finally drawing up to the surface of his mind: that he was really, really bitter for having lost the contract; that he was angry at Qrow for having two women over; that he was _terrified_ of hearing their voices next door; and that he was terrified that he had lost Qrow. Not Qrow Branwen, the author- Qrow Branwen, the neighbour who came to sit on his couch and drink his beer, the man who cooked him dinner most nights as long as Clover cooked weekends, his partner-in-crime and the best goddamn professional Clover had ever seen-

Drawing one hand haggardly down his face, he groaned, resting his forehead on the tabletop. _Oh my god. I think I love him._

That had to be the only explanation for why Qrow’s blushing cheeks and gentle smile and absolute _heartbreak_ wouldn’t leave his mind, his sweatpants and ratty t-shirts and hookups and drunken stupors and all.

And that revelation haunted him all night, stalking him to work the next day. He had a few meetings with James that day, but they were pushed back slightly by a board meeting, so all Clover could do while waiting was look over the dull manuscripts he had read over the past banal days without Qrow.

“What’s got you so moody?” a calm, reflective voice asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Clover started upright, blinking at the gently smiling face of Oz. “Oh- hello,” Clover muttered, trying to regain his balance. He hadn’t even noticed the other man approaching him.

Oz chuckled, all knowing understanding. “You look down. Rough project?”

Clover pasted on a wan smile as he looked at the numerous documents lying scattered all around him. “I… yeah.”

“Well, why is it that everyone’s struggling with their projects these days?” Oz hummed, lips quirked in a little smile. “I feel like there’s an easy fix to that. It’s good to see you all on the same page, though.”

Spinning his office chair to look at him properly, Clover could only frown as Oz walked away, looking cheerier than he had when had initiated the one-side conversation.

Still, Clover found himself latching onto what Oz had said. _Everyone’s struggling. We’re all on the same page._ Was it too much to wish that he was talking about Qrow?

 _He isn’t,_ Clover sighed, letting out yet another yawn. The neighbouring apartment had been loud for nights on end now, although it was mostly too vague to properly make out. He hadn’t slept well in just as long.

Barely two weeks later and he could already feel the hole in his life growing. He missed Qrow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who thought this was going to be the last chapter!!! …yeah, it grew too long. Last chapter will come out soon; it’s already completed. Oops!
> 
> Let me know what you think!

_**xi.** _

The days carried on, the week finishing with far more yawns and sleepless nights and heartbroken, longing looks at his bookshelf and tattoos than he’d ever admit. That pattern was only broken up the next Monday when Winter walked up to him, dropping a data drive onto his desk. “What’s this?” Clover asked, confused. He had been almost done writing an email to someone, and if Winter was just going to ask him to do more work, he was going to lose his mind-

But when he looked up, Winter was avoiding his gaze. The man leaned back in his chair, watching her carefully.

Was… was Winter Schnee _blushing?_

Rather than explaining what was on the drive, she simply muttered, “I spoke to James and you’re back on Qrow’s job. I refuse to play a part in this weird little roundabout game you’re playing.” She grimaced, the normally taciturn woman utterly disgruntled. “I feel like a gross observer.”

“What are you talking about- what do you mean I’m back on-“

“Just read it,” she repeated firmly before walking away, head held high. Her hurried footsteps betrayed her discomfort, however.

Clover let out a long sigh, slumping over his desk. What had she been talking about? And saying he was back on Qrow’s work- they couldn’t just _do_ that, could they?

But the data drive was in his computer before he could think twice about it. All that was inside was a fairly short document. Clover quickly dropped the whole file onto his phone, then ensured that the drive was packed away with his belongings, tugging on his coat and heading to the door. It was near enough to the end of the day; he could read on the bus and email James for more details later, since the man was in a meeting with a different author at the moment.

If Clover had a chance to work with Qrow again, he wasn’t going to squander it. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, though. _Although really, I’d just settle on seeing him again._

On the bus, Clover quickly settled into a small nook, opened up the document and began to read. To his surprise, it was a summary of the main events of the latter half of Qrow’s novel; Clover hadn’t actually gotten the chance to learn what Qrow had planned for it, as he had been writing the entire story as he progressed through each chapter. It wasn’t the best technique, but Qrow had insisted that it was how he had always done it, so Clover hadn’t questioned it.

Reading the document, a strange sense of pride welled up in Clover’s chest. For the most part, Clover was happy with the events outlined. They all made sense, flowing into one another and escalating to a natural climax.

However, there was one thing that he hadn’t been expecting. Right at the end of the first half, there had been a slew of new characters introduced. Clover had assumed the trajectory of the book was leading to the father, struggling to adapt to having his children so far away from him for the first time, actually making strong connections and building a community for himself throughout the latter half of the book. After all, that felt like the most natural arc for Qrow himself, as a man struggling to watch his nieces potentially get taken away; either by a sister who had abandoned them all, or by the passage of time and the girls’ move to their university.

Clover hadn’t thought the story was going to be a _romance._

Yet, there it was: a lovely little storyline of how the lonely father and one of his neighbours, recently bereaved of their partner, fell in love.

Clover understood that part. What he didn’t understand was why their interactions were strangely similar to his own experiences with Qrow; he also didn’t understand why this neighbour was a _man._

 _“Most of them were based on dumb adventures I’ve had, or just things people in my life have gone through._ ” Qrow had said those words all those weeks before in no uncertain terms.

He kept reading. The circumstances behind the neighbour’s own trauma were so uncannily similar to his own that Clover nearly missed his stop on the bus, as distracted as he was. How did Qrow know? Had James told him? James knew, after all; they’d spoken about how Clover had fallen in love with Qrow’s works during his interview. Had Qrow asked around about Clover in order to flesh out this character?

He didn’t want to let himself think that Qrow had asked around about Clover because he wanted to get to know _Clover, the person._ As confident as he normally was, he didn’t know how he would deal with the inevitable rejection.

 _But Qrow was always so sweet to me,_ a tiny voice in his brain insisted. _Look at this story!_

As he entered the elevator of his apartment building, he had to cover his face, leaning on the wall in pure embarrassment when Winter’s words finally kicked in for him. _‘A gross observer’, huh?_

Maybe he had a chance, then.

Clover didn’t get any more time to think about it, however, as the moment he arrived at his floor, he was accosted by two young women waiting at his door. One was a tiny brunette, her red dress swishing and puffing around her as she ran towards him excitedly. The other was a bright blonde, her smile and friendly demeanor so brilliant it lit up the entire corridor.

The smaller one approached first, all wide eyes and toothy smiles. “You’re Clover Ebi, right?”

Clover blinked at them, approaching his own door cautiously. “Yeah,” he replied, keeping his expression calm while his mind raced. He recognized these voices, these faces- but from _where?_

The taller girl held out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Yang, and this is my sister Ruby.”

“Hiya!” Ruby waved, her smile so wide it threatened to split his face in two.

Suddenly, all of the pieces clicked into place. He knew those names. Of _course_ he knew these two women- he had seen their faces over and over again in the tiny photographs scattered throughout Qrow’s apartment. Of _course_ he knew their voices, as they’d been keeping him up late with their screaming and yelling and cheering for days on end.

“You’re… Qrow’s nieces, aren’t you?” Clover murmured, the understanding of what had happened over the past few sleepless nights filling him with so much profound relief that he wanted to cry. Of course they were here. It must’ve been a break in school or something- they must’ve just been staying with their uncle for a visit.

_He didn’t just throw me away._

“Clover- and I’m sorry if this is a little personal, I _know_ I shouldn’t be asking this and instead should be better at making small talk-“ Ruby rambled, silvery eyes jumping every which way, “-but I’ve just gotta make sure, y’know? What are you to Uncle Qrow?”

“I’m his...” And Clover had to pause, thinking on it for a moment. Who _was_ he to Qrow? “…his editor,” he finished at last.

“Bzzt, wrong answer, folks,” Yang replied cheerily. Suddenly, Clover had to step back as Yang reached over, handed him a large, heavy canvas bag, and plucked the front door keys from his hand before replacing them with a different set. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your apartment!”

Clover just stared at them, absolutely baffled. A quick check inside the bag showed him a two six-packs of beer and some takeout. “Wait, what are you-“

But Yang had already opened up his front door. Ruby lingered behind for a moment, announcing sternly (well, as sternly as the short young woman could), “Have fun, be safe, use protection! We’ll sleep on the couches so your bed will be all good to go tomorrow, and we promise we won’t steal!”

“Much!” Yang hollered from inside.

And then, Clover was locked out of his own apartment, the clicking of the front door lock breaking him from his stupor.

The man glanced at the keys that Yang had given him instead. There was a small fire keychain hanging from it, but other than that, it was unidentifiable. Clover knew where it went anyways.

So, he inserted the key into Qrow’s front door, turned, and sighed, feeling the lock click and the door open in his hands. _Those two are most_ definitely _his nieces,_ Clover thought, suddenly absolutely exhausted. _I cannot believe that just happened._

Still, he didn’t feel like fighting with them, and he needed to see Qrow either way for work. At least Yang had been kind enough to give him a makeshift peace offering in the food and alcohol. There was no point stalling. After all, he had some answers to wring out from his favourite author, and maybe some closure- or a new beginning, too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally done! I hope you enjoyed this simple little fluff fic. Leave a comment and let me know your final thoughts!

_**xii.** _

The moment he opened up the door properly and stepped inside, Qrow hollered, “Hey, where were you? Didn’t you kids wanna go to-“ Qrow froze upon seeing Clover, standing stock-still at the veranda door. Headphones were slung around his neck, likely the only reason he hadn’t heard the entire conversation in the hallway.

Clover felt his heart swell to bursting just from looking at Qrow. It had only been a few weeks, but simply being with the man made everything seem to align in Clover’s world; how Qrow had infiltrated every part of Clover’s life like that, he didn’t know.

What he did know, however, was that he genuinely did love Qrow. The racing of his heartbeat, the heat in his face and chest and core and hands- he just wanted to hold him, touch him, prove that Qrow was _real_ after weeks of quiet separation, a whole veranda and thin wall away. It had nothing to do with the novels anymore, and everything to do with the man whose nieces had hijacked his apartment.

He didn’t give into himself, though. Instead, he calmly took off his shoes, feeling Qrow’s eyes following every movement with shocked uncertainty. Then, Clover placed all the beer in the fridge, set the takeout onto the counter, shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of the chair, and carried his work bag to Qrow’s kitchen island. He would’ve gone for the couch, but it had clearly been converted into a flat pullout bed for the two girls, with blankets and pillows littering the normally-tidy space.

As he pulled out his laptop and opened up the document Winter had given him, he turned the screen to face Qrow. “So, where’s my confession in real life, huh?” Clover asked, pointing at the scene breakdown that had told all.

Qrow immediately flushed, alarm running across his face. It broke him from his trance, the man angrily walking over to the front door, clearly ready to kick Clover out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled, “and I don’t know how you got in here, but-“

“Oh, okay. Let me refresh your memory.” Clover quickly scrolled down to where the plans for the climax of the story were laid out- he had memorized the page number on the bus, ready to bring it up as easily as possible- and began to read aloud every single listed point about the protagonist’s blossoming relationship which had _just so happened_ to be with the neighbour who _just so happened_ to have been in an accident and-

“Clover, what the hell!” Qrow cried, practically leaping to the island in order to slam Clover’s laptop shut. Luckily, Clover was able to get his hand out from under the lid in time, instead taking advantage of Qrow’s mortification to grab his hands and drag the elder to the other stool. Despite his initial attempt to pull away, Qrow quickly acquiesced, slumping over wearily in the chair.

“Qrow, you _have_ to tell me,” Clover muttered. “Did you actually mean it?”

“It’s just a book,” Qrow replied instantly, but his venom had no malice behind it- instead, all Clover could see in his eyes was fear of rejection. Disbelief.

And affection, buried underneath it all.

So quietly that Clover would barely hear it, Qrow muttered, “Damn Winter. You weren’t supposed to read that.”

Clover sighed, wracking his brain for ideas on what to say. He quickly gave up, however. There was no point putting up a false pretense or trying to smoothly make his way out of the situation. So, rather than trying to be suave, he decided to just… go for it.

It was a joke, but in the most earnest way as Clover asked, “Are you a mind reader, Qrow? A fortune teller?”

“What?” For a moment, all of the elder’s worry was replaced by confusion.

Clover grinned, mustering up every bit of corny, excruciating _cheese_ he could. “I mean… if the protagonist is based on you, then you predicted exactly how his new boyfriend would react.”

It took a moment for the words to sink into Qrow’s brain. Later on, Clover would almost wish he had snapped a photograph of it in the moment; the rapid shifting between shock to pure, unrelenting embarrassment into unabashed _wonder_ was something Clover wanted to cherish forever. He simply stared at Clover, slack-jawed and bewildered.

But then, Qrow’s expression soured yet again. “I get that you’re a fan, but-“

“I’m serious, you know,” Clover murmured. “Your writing has never been _all_ it is, Qrow.” His cheeks on fire. He couldn’t even meet Qrow’s gaze, dropping his eyes down to stare at his hands clenched into fists awkwardly on the countertop as he added, “You’re far more than your books.”

“Kid, you’re such a useless idiot,” Qrow replied, voice soft.

Clover could only imagine what Qrow’s face looked like at that moment; the amount of tenderness in his voice was enough to make Clover both scream in terror and pure elation. He managed to force out a weak chuckle. “I’m not _that_ much younger than you,” he said.

He could easily imagine Qrow’s eye roll when he groaned, “Ugh, fine.”

And then, Qrow lifted his chin up and kissed him.

Clover’s mind initially went haywire. Qrow Branwen was kissing him. A man, an _older man,_ was kissing Clover, a _heterosexual-_

 _Who the fuck am I kidding?_ Clover groaned internally, squashing down all of his confusion and distrust. _I’ve been looking only at Qrow long before now._

So, he kissed back. His mind went completely blank, his thoughts nothing but pure static, every nerve in his body on fire as he focused on the feeling of thin, slightly chapped lips moving against his.

Somewhere in the world, he was sure that Robyn was horrified of what he was doing. Or maybe she’d be amused- either way, it didn’t matter. Qrow’s breath mingling with his felt more natural than the past few years with her, and Clover wouldn't trade this warmth for anything.

When Qrow finally pulled back, Clover released the long breath he had been holding inside, too stunned to formulate words. “You okay?” Qrow asked, a hint of concern slowly growing in warm red eyes.

Clover gulped. How in the world could he respond to that? How could _anyone_ respond to that? _I kissed Qrow Branwen._ He shook his head. _No, he kissed me._ Before he could stop himself, he muttered, “Okay, I get that you’ve written tons of romance but that was just _corny,_ Qrow-“

Instantly, the older man bristled. “Why you-“

“But,” Clover continued, a wry grin growing on his face, “I’m probably worse.”

That piqued Qrow’s interest, the man propping an elbow up onto the countertop as he watched Clover in interest. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“I mean, I _am_ the one who chose leaving my long-time girlfriend and moving across the world for the faint _chance_ of just _meeting_ my favourite author…”

To his surprise, Qrow just shrugged, stroking Clover’s cheek with his thumb tenderly. In a voice far too raspy and hoarse to still be as attractive as it was to Clover, Qrow said, “I’ve heard weirder, boy scout. Are you even a real fan?”

Clover raised a brow. That almost sounded like a _challenge,_ and Clover wasn’t one to back down. So, he quickly tugged his t-shirt over his head, ignoring Qrow’s surprised yelps-turned-wolf-whistle in favour of standing and showing off his chest- his scars- his tattoos. His fingers trailed across marred skin, sinking into the leaves of the clover, tracing the angry red line underneath.

“James told you about it?” Clover murmured.

Slowly, Qrow nodded, and Clover shivered as callused fingertips brushed over puffy scar tissue across his torso. “A couple of years ago?”

“More than a couple, but,” Clover continued, “I survived the accident- just barely. Lost my parents, though. Your books helped me grieve back then. Thank you.”

And to his shock and horror and embarrassed amusement, Qrow began to _laugh._

The elder’s hand reached up, tracing the contours of his scars again until they landed upon the quote from _Summer’s End_ tattooed across his waist. “Oh my god, you _actually_ did this to yourself,” Qrow cackled, barely producing coherent words through the wheezing.

“I was eighteen and I was going through the grieving process, okay?!”

“But why _that quote?”_

“It was deep!”

“But it’s _so angsty!_ Who are you, Ruby’s little reader friend?”

Clover winced at the teasing, shame rising up into his belly like a hot flare, singeing him from the inside out; but when Qrow leaned forward and pressed his lips against the scars, the tattoos, and every curve and plane of his chest, Clover relaxed, feeling the elder’s attraction and warmth and _love_ in every touch.

"Thank god," Qrow murmured, lips moving against Clover's skin. When Clover hummed in confusion, pushing back that dark hair out of those red eyes that had stolen his heart from the very beginning, Qrow simply grinned, all coy smiles and teasing winks. "I didn't think the straight kid would ever even be an option."

The very thought of Qrow potentially pining for Clover made him melt. "Get used to it, you old crow."

And later that night, as they lay in bed exhausted and sated and sick of muffling their voices for fear Qrow’s nieces would hear next door, Qrow quietly asked Clover if he would help him come up with ‘better tattoo material than that angsty garbage’ in their next book, and Clover said yes.

**_-fin-_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s that! I hope you enjoyed this fic. Check out some of my other works if you’d like more Fair Game: 
> 
> [Cameo Lover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844532) (more canon-compliant, canon-focused V7 Clover-centric FG)  
> [ Moonshine Smile ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138832) (Modern AU with Uncle Qrow & baby!Ruby fluff)  
> [ Things We Said ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245074)(canon-compliant look at Team STRQ's backstory and V7 FG)  
> [ Way Off Track ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24604045) (Modern AU with thirsty!Clover and universityprofessor!Qrow on public transit)  
> [ jigsaws and pieces we made to fit ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748414) (Domestic V7 fluff about Duncle!Qrow and his boyfriend and 8 idiot kids)  
> [ a crow and his trinkets ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24845935) (V7 Fluff&Angst with a side of misunderstandings and domestic, family Duncle!Qrow moments)  
> Plus a few short oneshots.
> 
> I am still just absolutely baffled by the amount of engagement I've gotten in my FairGame fics since my work isn’t very well-known! If you're curious, check out my other fics! I've got plenty of RWBY :D
> 
> If you want to see more of Qrow in canon, check out my [Qrow Branwen-Centric Fic series!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448095)
> 
> Here are [both canon-compliant fics and complete AUs](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948) for RWBY. If you're more of a Pyrrha/Team JNPR fan, have fun with [this super long series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448071). 
> 
> Cheers for reading, y'all! See you in my other fics, and let me know what you thought of this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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